Beauty and the Brood
by Roc Lammergeier
Summary: When on a mission in the Fade, Fenris and Hawke encounter a beautiful woman from a time far in the past. The woman is everything Fenris didn't expect from a mage: smart, funny, stunning, and...understanding. A serious and sometimes lighthearted romance with some "implied" content (steamy, I'll try to keep it M here). Warning:implied non-con, just so you know, but nothing graphic.
1. Act 1

Act 1

"Damn that boy! Damn him to Oblivion!" Hawke swore as their little party surreptitiously moved through the precarious realm of dreams and death, also known as the Fade.

Fenris raised his brow at Hawke's sudden and unexpected outburst. Garrett Hawke might be loud, vulgar, and expressive, but he was also relaxed, humorous, and seemingly unconscious of the perpetual danger he always got involved in. However, Hawke seemed very nervous and anxious about their current mission. Fenris couldn't blame him, much as he disliked agreeing with a mage. The Black City was even more disturbing than the lore about it claimed. The sky above was not a swirl of grey-green clouds, like normally hung above the Fade, but instead were a colorful blend of magentas, purples, a bit of gold, and black. Flecks of strange, square-like, black matter floated about, not differentiating between falling or rising. The buildings raised upon the floating islands were unlike anything Fenris had seen before, as they were angular and constructed with blocks of stone that fit seamlessly together. Over their black exterior was the occasional collection of alien symbols, painted in a strange, glowing paint. Rivers of the black matter cascaded over the edge of the buildings, falling into the abyss below. What lay down there, Fenris couldn't even begin to guess.

The strangest thing by far, though, was the people. There shouldn't have been people in the Black City, according to what the Chantry said. But, yet, there were beings, if not people, staring helplessly at the largest of the constructs, their glowing red eyes locked upon its surface in anticipation. Anticipation for what worried Fenris as he stared at one as they passed it. They were strange beings indeed, Fenris noticed as they passed one, with black and white and grey-blue markings covering its skin. It was not a demon, nor a spirit, but something else. And it was alive, and should have been moving. But, it wasn't. Something was wrong.

The "boy" that Hawke had referred to was their target, the boy Feynriel. Keeper Marethari had pleaded with Hawke to fetch the half-human, half-elf mage from the Fade, which he had gotten lost in. Unfortunately, Feynriel was more than just a mage. When they had first had to rescue Feynriel from the hands of slave traders, Marethari had declared him a somniari. Fenris knew of the term from his bondage in the Tevinter Imperium: they were highly prized and feared because a somniari could consciously travel the Fade and physically interact with it, unlike normal mages. They could even use the Fade to enter people's minds and influence their dreams, or even kill that person. Instead, Feynriel had decided to use his gift to "explore" the Fade and do rather stupid things, such as enter the forbidden Black City, the center of the Fade and supposed source of ultimate corruption.

_Damn that boy indeed,_ Fenris agreed with his mage leader for a second time that day.

"Oh, what would Sebastian say if he knew we were in the Black City?" the abomination Anders wondered smugly.

"He wouldn't say anything," Fenris responded. "He would just put an arrow through your knee, if not your head."

"Well, that's not very nice," Merrill pouted from the back of the group, crossing her arms. "It's not like we're doing anything _bad_…"

Hawke guffawed. "_Bad?_ No one has set foot in this place for millennia! And for good reason! The sooner we find Feynriel, the sooner we can get the hell out of here! I don't want to be a magnet for the Chantry, or, for that matter, demons!"

Fenris hadn't thought about the Chantry. If the Chantry knew that they had set foot on one of the holiest places in the Chant of Light, the supposed home of the Maker, they would never be allowed to see daylight again. The four of them would spend eternity being interrogated about the Black City and how they got to it in the first place. Which, Fenris admitted, he wasn't quite sure of himself. Marethari had merely laid them down in her cots, and then brought out some strange symbol from around her neck, spoke some words to it, and, when the symbol began to glow, they had magically appeared in the Black City itself. He squinted his eyes shut for a moment, trying to recall what the symbol was. The image of it flashed in his head, an image of a gold triangle divided into three smaller ones. It was not a symbol he was familiar with, but somehow it was magical. Bah, _magic_. The cursed thing.

Hawke led the party up a ramp that led to the large central complex. The elf stared up at it, taking in its massive structure. If he didn't know any better, he would have sworn it was a palace of some sort. He could feel the magic radiating dimly off of Feynriel from deep within the place, one of his lyrium-tattoo tricks that only worked in the Fade, and with a nod from him, Hawke continued his course. That was why Hawke had brought him along; his unique abilities concerning the use of magic made him, sadly, indispensable to the black-haired mage. And sadly, Fenris needed Hawke's help in taking revenge upon his former master, the Tevinter Magistrate Danarius.

Of course, upon their entry into the palace, as Fenris decided from the high-vaulted ceilings and glowing tapestries, demons sprouted from their hiding spots in the floor. Hawke, Anders, and Merrill all reached for their staves and began firing bolts of magic at the demons. Some froze, some turned to stone, others were hurled back or burst into flame as the mages used their mana to defeat their attackers. Meanwhile, Fenris used the only thing he ever needed, his sword. He pulled out his large, two-handed blade that was almost as tall as he was and gripped it tightly. With a roar, he lunged at the nearest demon, his lyrium tattoos glowing blue as he swung his blade through the ethereal being and dissolving it into smoke. He dashed over to the next, briefly meeting its evil, glowing eyes before also defeating it. As he moved between demons, he would plunge his blade into one that had been turned to stone or ice, crumbling it into pieces. Soon enough, with their combined efforts, the demons were driven off. Something, however, still seemed wrong. Demons usually were not defeated that easily, or that quickly. Perturbed, Fenris wiped the sweat off his brow, and the party continued their search for the somniari.

After several more battles with demons that seemed substantially weaker than usual, they came to a set of large bedroom doors intricately painted with the same glowing paint. The magical signature of Feynriel blazed brightly behind the doors. Hawke looked questioningly at Fenris, and he nodded his white-haired head in silent acknowledgement that this was it. Hawke took a deep breath, his barrel chest rising and falling heavily, before pushing open the doors with his thick, muscular arms. Within, Feynriel jumped up in surprise, his form outlined by the purple clouds beyond that appeared from the open balcony. Black drapes with glowing blue patterns billowed slightly in the still air. The only light in the room came from that open balcony, but it was enough to make out the somniari's features. He was, indeed, shocked that they had found him.

"Feynriel," Hawke breathed a sigh of relief, then shook his head in patronizing concern. "Thank the Maker that you're—"

Hawke stopped.

Anders and Merrill looked at Hawke in concern before following his gaze. But Fenris had already seen it, and his eyes were firmly locked where Hawke was looking.

"_Maker_," Anders breathed.

"_Mythal_," Merrill whispered right after Anders.

"What," Fenris stated simply.

A figure was laid out on a bed between Feynriel and the party. The figure was obviously female, with large breasts and hands folded over her stomach. She was abnormally tall, about as tall as Fenris, if not taller. Her long hair was orange, and rested over her chest, which her black robes were loosely clasped over, with a hood extending in a triangle from the top of her head like a headdress or crown. Though her skin was blue-grey in the fading light, her beauty was unmistakable. It froze them all in place, captivating them like some strange magic or desire demon. But she was no demon. Fenris could tell that much by looking at her peaceful face, with its slanted eyebrows and eyes, its full lips, and strong, thin nose. A powerful feeling rolled over Fenris, almost forcing him to his knees. The sensation left him breathless, and his heart ached painfully in his chest, which felt about to burst.

"—okay…" Hawke finished frailly. He, too, was captivated by her. Hawke, who was in love with Anders, even if they did try to hide it. Hawke, who wasn't interested in women, and never would be.

_It must be magic,_ Fenris decided with a renewed sense of animosity towards that foul power, but the thought quickly slipped away from him as he continued staring at her dumbly.

Finally, Hawke slowly lumbered over to her bedside and sunk to his knees beside her. Anders soon followed him, but instead of falling to the ground, he put a hand on Hawke's shoulder and gazed at her form in awe.

"Who is she?" Fenris asked, finally gathering up the strength to move just as Merrill followed the other two.

"I don't know," the somniari shook his head as he looked back down at the alien woman. "I found her here, like this."

Anders extended a hand, and a wave of magical energy burst forth. Fenris started lunging for his hand instinctually, to protect her, but stopped himself. Anders was scanning her.

The abomination pursed his lips. "She's injured, and gravely," Anders announced to no one in particular. "She's going to die soon."

Everyone tore their gaze away from her to Anders and his feathery shoulders. "What?" Hawke asked, perplexed.

Anders knelt down and put his fingers gently against her forehead, his eyes glowing slightly from the lurking spirit of Justice within him. "She's injured. I've seen this injury before, in Amaranthine."

"Can you heal her?" Feynriel asked eagerly.

Strangely, Fenris felt desperate, silently and fervently wishing that Anders would say yes. His brows knitted together as he puzzled over this sensation before firmly quelling it. What was this girl to him? She was probably a demon, or at least a mage, and she most likely had something to do with the corruption here in the Black City. It would probably be best if this girl _did_ die.

And yet.

"I can," he said shakily, "perhaps. I've seen this before. But not here. I feel…weak here."

"What if she's a demon?" Fenris suggested. "Maybe we should just leave her here."

The party looked at him in abject horror, stupefied that he would suggest such a thing. Anders' eyes began glowing more intensely as his anger awoke Justice, and Hawke's burning brown eyes borrowed deep into the elf.

Without looking away from Fenris, Anders shot a pulse of magic at the girl. She remained motionless and peaceful. "Satisfied?" the mage asked. "Even gravely wounded like her, a demon would have reacted to defend itself from that."

In a flash, Hawke's attitude changed from anger to curiosity. "Wait… That's interesting…" he muttered. "Feynriel, have any demons tried to possess you?"

Feynriel looked at Hawke in confusion, even though the possibility that Feynriel could be possessed had been one of Marethari's main concerns when sending them into the Fade. "No…" he answered hesitantly.

Hawke stroked his goatee ponderously before continuing, "Since Anders hasn't been possessed by Justice, like he usually is in the Fade, and the demons that attacked us were surprisingly weak, I theorize that whatever corruption is here actually decreases the power of demons and spirits, maybe even lyrium itself. Interesting…"

"Hawke," Anders interrupted him sternly. "This isn't the time."

"Right." The mage turned his attention back to the prone woman. "We need to do something, and quickly. Is there any way to take her out of the Fade?"

Feynriel shook his head. "We can't. We are ethereal here, but she's…she's a physical being, not a spirit or demon. I don't know if she can even survive outside of the Fade."

"But what about…" Anders began pouring out suggestion after suggestion, as Hawke, Merrill, and Feynriel debated what could be done. They spent minutes debating one solution before deciding that its risks and shortcomings were too impractical for use. Then, Anders would throw out yet another ludicrous suggestion, which they would have to examine from all angles just to decide that it wouldn't work. Fenris stood behind them, his arms crossed and his brow knitted in annoyance. _Mages._

Finally, after what seemed an eternity listening to the mages bicker, Fenris decided he had had enough. Swearing by Andraste, he strode resolutely over to the woman, scooped her limp, light form up in his arms, and concentrated his anger into his lyrium tattoos. His skin alit with blue fire as the lyrium was activated, startling the mages around him. He gave a cool look at Hawke as his body started becoming incorporeal, part of the process of returning to the physical world of Thedas. Her physical form also started becoming ethereal and insubstantial. Then, in the next instant, Fenris could feel his consciousness being sucked back into his body, and he awoke on the cot in the Kirkwall Alienage, with Marethari gaping at him and the girl lying in his still-glowing arms.

Keeper Marethari, a kindly old elf and unfortunately a mage, rushed over to his side to examine the strange girl in his arms, pressed against his chest. He hadn't realized before how curvy she was, how perfectly proportioned every part of her was, how silky her flaming orange hair was, how…

He tore his gaze away from her hypnotic form, cutting his thoughts off before he lost his reason. But not before he saw that her outline had become blurry by a fraction, like a shadowy cloak. The sooner this strange event was over, he decided, the better.

Then, the sensation of agitation that had driven him to use his powers to take the woman out of the Fade faded, leaving him somewhat perplexed. Why had he done such an uncharacteristic thing? Though he may have been annoyed at the futile bickering of his sinful mage companions, a part of him had wanted to leave her. A very large part of him. So what in Thedas had possessed him to save her? Or rather, what in the Fade? Or had it been that small part of him that hoped beyond hope that somehow, she was different?

Moments later, Hawke regained consciousness, followed by the others. Hawke sat up and glared furiously at Fenris, who glared back out of habit.

"You didn't tell me you could take things out of the Fade," the black-haired mage accused him.

"You never asked," Fenris responded venomously. "Danarius used to have me fetch things for him for his experiments. I figured a person would be no different."

Hawke nodded in interest as Anders rushed over and plucked the girl out of Fenris' arms. He carried her back to his cot and laid her down gingerly, with Marethari in tow, both looking at her in concern.

Marethari ran her fingers over the girl's face familiarly, and examined the small circlet that hung over her brow before sighing. Shaking her head, Marethari uttered, "I had hoped this wouldn't happen."

Everyone else looked at her in surprise, and Feynriel asked the obvious, "What do you mean?"

The Keeper pursed her lips. "Merrill, girl, do you remember the tales I taught you about the history of our homeland, Elvhenan?"

"Bits and pieces," Merrill responded slightly bitterly. "Why?"

"Do you remember the tale I told you about the Great Hero?"

Merrill paled suddenly. "She was his Shadow?"

Marethari nodded solemnly, causing Merrill to reel back. "She should be dead! A few thousand years dead!"

"Indeed," Marethari mumbled, turning her gaze back to the girl. "Dead. There are some things I did not tell you, my First."

Marethari pulled a shard of the rare orange lyrium out, the same kind that the cursed lyrium idol had been, attached to a thong that hung from her neck. Everyone's eyes were drawn to its glowing surface. And, with a sudden burst of speed, Marethari rammed the shard into the woman's chest. Fenris jumped to his feet, and Hawke almost lunged at the old elf. Anders flickered blue momentarily as Justice reared his ugly head, and Merrill gasped. Feynriel sank to the cot again in shock. The girl, meanwhile, began to convulse. Her back arched in spasms, and the hole that Marethari had created with the embedded shard began filling with a dark substance.

"Darkspawn blood," Anders gasped, reinforcing what everyone was thinking. "It is as I feared."

"Not darkspawn blood," Marethari corrected him. "Corruption, from whatever poisoned the Fade and the Black City. She will be fine soon, the poison in her body just needed to be drawn out."

For a brief moment, the girl's eyes flashed open violently, staring at nothing but piercing everything. Her eyes were not red, but a fiery orange and yellow, with the very inner circle of her iris being the blood red of the people they had found in the Black City. Fenris found that he could not tear his gaze away from those hypnotic eyes. Those eyes were even more powerful than her appearance, and far more captivating. The fire burning in them spoke of pain, a pain Fenris recognized.

After a minute, all the corruption in her body had been drawn out into that cavity, and her spasms stopped. She fell back onto the cot, and her eyes closed, leaving Fenris feeling displaced and hollow. For a moment, he forgot where he was.

Fenris was getting the strange impression that his emotions were no longer his own.

With delicate hands, Marethari whispered a strange incantation, and the dark clot ripped itself out of her chest. Immediately, Anders set to work repairing the hole the Keeper had rent in her chest. Marethari, meanwhile, held the clot up to her eye and examined the darkness with a keen, elfish eye. Without a word, she pulled a vial from one of her many pockets scattered about her robes and unceremoniously dropped the bloody clot into the vial and sealed it both physically and magically.

"Leave the lyrium in her," she instructed Anders. "She will need it to remain in this world."

Fenris looked back at the girl and noticed that, indeed, her outline had solidified, and she no longer looked as if she was about to fade into smoke. Anders, though thoroughly confused by Marethari's strange instructions, complied by her wishes and sealed the lyrium shard inside the girl.

Now that the girl had been seen to, Hawke and Marethari turned their attention to Feynriel as Anders finished bandaging her. The somniari wilted as they looked at him, even though their looks were more of concern than accusation.

"I'm dangerous, aren't I?" the boy asked. "I mean, before I entered the Black City, the people I saw— they were demons, weren't they?"

With a pained look at the Keeper, Hawke nodded. "Yes, they were demons. They were trying to possess you."

Feynriel gazed at the ground in understanding. "I guess…I guess I need to find out more about myself, don't I? What my powers are, what I can do to protect myself…"

"Very little, I would imagine," Fenris grumbled. Hawke shot him a nasty glare, which the elf ignored with practiced apathy.

Feynriel looked up at the aging elf. "What do you suggest, Keeper?"

"Hmm…" she folded her arms. "I do not have the resources nor the expertise to train you, but…" she dared a glance at Fenris, his back towards the group now, before continuing, "I would imagine there have to be some documents in the Tevinter Imperium that can help you."

Feynriel stood up and stroked his chin. "That does sound promising. And you, Sera Hawke?"

"From what I've heard of the Tevinter Imperium," Hawke said carefully, "it sounds like they could definitely help you. I say go."

Feynriel twisted his arm across his chest and bowed deeply to Hawke. "Thank you for all you've done for me, Sera Hawke. I'm sure I wouldn't be alive right now, if it weren't for you."

"Don't mention it," Hawke waved it off, slightly uncomfortable.

Feynriel departed to let his mother know of his decision to leave Kirkwall for the hostile land of the Tevinter Imperium, and the rest stayed in the little shack that Marethari had acquired for her occasional visits to the Alienage. By the expression on Hawke's face, Fenris knew there was another matter to be discussed, and he could only guess it concerned the unconscious girl on the cot.

Apparently, Keeper Marethari could tell, too. "You want to know what will become of the girl, yes?"

Hawke nodded in a slightly boyish way, and the Keeper sighed.

"It has been a long time since one of her kind has walked this land," Marethari walked back over to her cot, "and I fear that this might pose a problem, not only for those that see her, but also for herself.

"She came to this land long before the Fade had been corrupted and the Chantry had taken route. She was alive when humans and elves still lived peacefully with one another, before the elves became paranoid at their own slipping immortality. I do not know her name, for it was lost when most of our culture was, but I remember most of her story. When she wakes, this land will be strange and foreign to her. She will not know our language, for I believe she will speak ancient elven. She will wonder what has happened to those that she remembers, and what became of the land she visited. And, I will have to teach her how to live in this new world, how to blend in and how to behave.

"So, until she is ready and strong enough to leave the Alienage, my First—" Marethari gave a nod to Merrill, "—and I will look after her. Does this satisfy you?"

Hawke pondered this. "And after she is strong enough to leave? What then?"

"Then, it will be her choice."

Hawke bit his lower lip in thought, then broke into a wide grin. "Okay then! Thank you, Keeper. Merrill."

Merrill gave him a small smile as Anders, Hawke, and Fenris left the small hut. Fenris was wearing a scowl, still feeling conflicted inside.

Mistaking his inner confusion for worry, Anders smirked. "I didn't think you were capable of worry, or that you were capable of caring for someone other than yourself."

Fenris shot him a dirty look. "I'm not worried about the girl, _mage_. I'm worried she's an abomination, like you."

"I'm not a n—"

"Both of you!" Hawke silenced them before they started fighting yet again. "I swear, if I hear another word about Anders being or not being an abomination, I'm going to seal both of your mouths!" Hawke gave a secretive smile to Anders. "No matter how sweet your lips taste."

"Ugh," Fenris shuddered and continued walking ahead of them. _Mages. Sickening._

* * *

_Author's Note: Hey everyone! I know I need to update my other stories (I'm working on it, I swear!), this was a commission from my friend, sort of a request, but whatever. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy, and comments/concerns/reviews are much appreciated! Thanks everyone!_


	2. Act 2

Act 2

Brown and grey. Everything seemed brown and grey when she awoke. Not black, not the familiar white of the stones of the palace, not blues or oranges or purple. Brown and grey. Hard, distant, unyielding. Which meant she wasn't in Twilight anymore. She closed her eyes; they weren't any help anyway, too blurry from her time asleep. Time would fix that, but she didn't want to see Hyrule. Not again. _Hyrule_…a sudden panic gripped her throat and plunged itself into her mind. A terror filled her stomach and sent it rolling. If she had been usurped again…if she had been turned into an imp…stripped of most of her power, her beauty, her very identity…for that was the only thing it could mean. She couldn't take it again.

Her eyes flashed open again and she bolted up, desperate to know if she was, indeed, back in her exiled form. Too soon. A stabbing pain ripped through her skull, right behind her eyes. Her chest screamed as if on fire, and her lungs burned from lack of oxygen. Every nerve in her body quivered in pain, and she collapsed back, the pain so strong she couldn't even scream, just gape like a fish out of water. Luckily, though, the pain caused her eyesight to suddenly sharpen, and details came into view. The only thing she noticed in her agony, though, was a young woman, not much younger than she, standing over a stone bowl. She had black hair, facial tattoos, and the pointed ears of a Hylian. Her wide, green eyes widened considerably more at seeing her awake, and the girl rushed over, babbling in a tongue that was far from being Hylian.

Another woman entered then, an old, gray-haired Hylian with faded tattoos and a robe that bespoke authority. She stared helplessly at the two women as the pain seared through her.

"You will be okay," the old woman spoke slowly as she took her hand. Her normal hand. She was not an imp, thank the Goddesses! A soothing sensation filled her, thanks to the old Hylian's magical ministrations.

"Thank you," she managed to whisper before falling back into the deep sleep of healing.

* * *

"Broody. Hey, Broody!" a baritone voice called him out of his mind.

Fenris came too, realizing he had been staring into the mud-colored liquid at the bottom of his tin mug, into what passed for ale in the Lowtown inn. How long had he been sitting there?

"What are you doing?" the owner of the voice, a dwarf, asked as he pulled out a wooden chair and plopped himself down beside Fenris.

"Thinking," the elf responded, still looking into the mug, but now debating if he should risk taking another swig of the stuff. After all, it tasted worse than the mud it resembled.

"Well that's never good," the dwarf looked away and whistled at a bar wench. "Get us another round of this piss, will you?"

The bar wench gave him the dirtiest look she could muster before going to fetch them another of ale. A paying customer was a paying customer, after all, even if he was trying to buy out your employer. A fact which Varric, the dwarf, never let the employees forget.

Right on cue, Varric grumbled, "When I own this place, it'll be _quality_ piss, at least."

Deciding that he was getting another mug anyway, Fenris risked the distinct possibility that he would get drunk and swilled the last gulp of ale. He wiped off the residue with the back of his hand and tried not to spit out the disgusting aftertaste of what could accurately be called piss. The bar wench, an ugly serving woman that had worked The Hanged Man since before Fenris had arrived in Kirkwall over three years ago, brought them two more dingy tin mugs with just a bit of froth gathered on the surface of the piss/ale and taking Fenris' empty one away to be wiped briefly by the barkeep's dirty cloth and then put back to use for the many Lowtown lowlifes that came and drank at the inn.

"To mysteries from the Fade!" Varric lifted his mug in a toast. "And may this new mystery Hawke found bring us less misery than the last!"

Fenris raised his mug and clanked the bottom with Varric's, sending a little wave of muddy liquid over the rim and onto the table. "Yes, less misery. Though, this _girl_ seems even more powerful than that damn lyrium idol."

"So Hawke said," Varric said after a swig and a pause to let the ale run its sluggish course to his gut.

"So he told you?"

"Of course. He told me everything. And he also told me that _you_ saved her, Broody," Varric eyed him over his mug.

And with that, Fenris chugged the entire mug of ale. Varric watched, stunned, somewhere between disgust and awe. When the last drop of ale was gone from the mug, Fenris slammed it down on the table and issued a loud belch in triumph that he was now, officially, a slight bit drunk. The ale, weak as it was, still had enough alcohol to make Fenris' stomach warm and his throat tickle. He felt his mind go a tad fuzzy, too. It should have taken a lot more to get him drunk, considering how much he normally drank, but after trips to the Fade, his body's resistances were lower than usual. A pleasant side-effect of something not-so pleasant, Fenris decided.

Varric raised an eyebrow when he was done, ignoring the expressions from the other bar patrons. "I take it you aren't very happy about it, then?"

"Not in the slightest," Fenris agreed.

He nodded understandingly. With a small smile, Varric gulped his ale, though not quite as viciously as Fenris had. Slamming on the table, much like Fenris had, Varric snapped his fingers at the wench for another round, which she grudgingly supplied.

"You two better keep yourselves in line," she hissed at them as she gathered the empty mugs.

"Of course, sweetheart," Varric leaned back and gave her one of his suave, charming smiles that people usually just rolled their eyes at, which the bar wench also did.

Flicking his eyes back to Fenris, the dwarf leaned forward conspiratorially. "So," he grabbed the handle of his mug, "what was it you were 'thinking' about?"

Fenris took another swig before answering. The ale was beginning to make his head feel nice and fluffy. "The girl, why I saved her, y'know," the elf waved the question off nonchalantly, now that he was tipsy.

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking, Broody," Varric patronized him. "And what do you mean, 'why you saved her'?"

Fenris shrugged slightly. "Because I don't have the faintest idea why I did. She's probably some kind of spirit, or demon, or, worse, another mage."

"Really? Not the faintest idea?"

Fenris gave him a warning look.

"Come on, Fenris, you saved her for a reason, didn't you? And don't tell me it was her body."

The elf winced in his mind. Varric never used his real name unless they were talking about something _really_ important. And with his addled brain, he couldn't really think why this would be important at all.

"I felt, I don't know—"

"Hope?" Varric suggested.

Fenris looked up in surprise from the bottom of the mug, where he found himself staring yet again. "Hope?"

"I think you were hoping," Varric leaned back in his chair, a triumphant, knowing smile spreading across his face. "Hope that maybe she's different, that she'll prove you wrong."

"Wrong about what?"

"Wrong about magic, about mages, about yourself," the dwarf responded.

"Right, because not all mages are evil, or so they keep telling me," Fenris said bitterly.

"No, I think you're hoping they're right, on some level," Varric declared. "That's why you keep hanging around Hawke, even though he's a mage and you really don't need him to find Danarius."

"Yes, I do," Fenris protested, his forehead creasing in confusion.

"No you don't," the dwarf contradicted. "All you need to find Danarius is contacts, and you've made enough. You stay with Hawke because you want to see if he'll be like the rest of them, or if he's going to prove you wrong and turn out to be the good guy that doesn't go blood mage or abomination. And that's why you saved the girl. You _want _her to be a mage, so that she can prove you wrong, too."

Varric took another swill. "That, or it was 'divine intervention' or something."

Fenris rolled his eyes before drinking. "Sounds like you got me all figured out, Master Dwarf."

"'Course I do," Varric smiled proudly. "Come on, I got a better bottle of stronger spirits up in my quarters. Let's get piss-drunk tonight, eh?"

* * *

He awoke to the rich tone of a woman calling for him, and the rough voice of a dwarf yelling at him. Fenris pulled the cover tighter around his pounding head, trying to block out the sound of the world that just kept turning despite his many protests. Finally, the voices got too close to his room, and their noise reached his sensitive ears no matter how many covers or pillows he tried to block them out with.

Slowly, he sat up, trying unsuccessfully to lessen the pounding in his head that felt worse than a hammer taken to the base of his skull. He swore for the umpteenth time that last night would be the last night he would ever drink that much again as he squinted against the slits of sunlight that dimly fell through his ratty curtains. He shuffled to his bedroom door and clumsily pushed it open, perhaps with a bit of excess force than was really needed. The voices got nearer as the banging of the door brought the intruders closer to his location.

"Fenris!" the rich voice of a woman called for him sweetly. She rounded a corner, and stood there, looking at him like a cat looks at a juicy, fat bird. A smile broke out on her face. "Varric! I found him!"

The dwarf appeared soon after, but upon rounding the corner, quickly put his hands up defensively, shielding his eyes. Fenris heard him swear in surprise.

"I have to say, I quite enjoy this picture," Isabella purred.

"Yeah, you would," Varric agreed sarcastically. "Thank Andraste you have on a loin cloth, Broody. I think I'd have to stab my own eyes out otherwise."

Isabella's smile widened. "But then they could go on my necklace!"

"Sure, but I thought you just wanted elf eyes?"

"I'd make an exception for yours, Varric."

"Right, thanks." Varric peeked through his fingers at Fenris. "Come on, Broody, get some clothes on."

Fenris crossed his arms, irritated that he had been dragged out of bed. "Why?"

"So we can go, of course!" Isabella joked.

The elf shot her a dirty look, "Go where?"

"The Alienage," Varric said as he began walking toward the kitchen. "Keeper Marethari wanted you to visit, since, after all, it's been a week since the girl woke up."

Fenris grunted and turned back to his bedroom. "I'll pass, thanks."

Isabella lunged forward and grabbed his arm. "Oh no, you don't. Hawke ordered us to use force if necessary to take you, because Hawke doesn't want to offend our dear Keeper."

"Does he really expect me to care if I offend her?"

Isabella gave him one of her warning looks, which she gave only before she was about to twist a limb off. Fenris calculated the odds of beating her in his present condition, but with his pounding hangover, it probably wasn't going to happen. Sighing in resignation, he headed in the bedroom, to the dressing room. Isabella sat on the bed and waited as Fenris pulled on one of his tunics and leather pants, then strapped on his chest plate. He emerged a few minutes later, ready to go but looking like hell anyway. The pirate giggled at his bedhead and pained expression before leading him to the kitchen, where gratefully Varric was making one of his legendary hangover cures.

Isabella pushed him into a chair and passed him a bowl of the slop that looked about as bad as the food in The Hanged Man, but tasted far better. Within seconds of his first bite of the gruel, the pounding in his head lessened, and after he had scrapped out the last bit with his semi-dirty spoon, his head had cleared completely. Varric and Isabella were watching him with interest as he finished. He looked up from the bowl with confusion.

"You must've had one hell of a hangover, Broody," Varric finally commented.

"I came home and drank another bottle of brandy afterward," Fenris answered. Varric pressed his palms to his forehead in exasperation as Isabella just laughed.

Isabella took his arm and, with Varric leading the way and Fenris grudgingly keeping pace, the small party headed to Lowtown and into the Alienage. Not many people were out, even this late in the morning. They passed several people Fenris had seen before, some that Hawke had helped or that had just lived in Lowtown for longer than Fenris had lived in Kirkwall. Merrill stood outside the hut like a guard, looking lost and forlorn. When the blood mage saw the party of her "friends" approaching, she brightened considerably. Fenris' mood just grew darker. _Mages_.

"Varric! I was starting to worry that you might not come," Merrill began blabbering.

"Of course we came, sweetheart," Varric said. "We want to see this girl Hawke and Anders have been going on and on about."

Merrill's face lit up in a smile. "Oh, she's wonderful! She woke up about a week ago, and she's been steadily getting better since! Marethari predicts that she'll be able to move about in a few more days!"

Fenris crossed his arms, slightly annoyed that he was even there. And, he was slightly annoyed that Merrill had taken such a liking to this girl. It wasn't unusual for her to like strange people, after all she liked Hawke and he was about as strange as they came. It just seemed too weird that she was as powerfully attractive awake as asleep.

"—and she learns so quickly!" Merrill continued. "When she first awoke, she only spoke ancient Elvish, but now she can mostly understand Ferelden and she's beginning to speak it, too. It didn't take her very long to start understanding our conversations, either. We were talking one day, and—"

Fenris' mind blocked out Merrill as she continued blabbering about the girl. Marethari had appeared at the door, and was staring very intently at him, trying to get his attention. Just as he noticed her, so did Merrill, her First. She stopped in mid-sentence, and turned to look at her master.

"Master Dwarf, Mistress," she addressed Varric and Isabella, "would you like to meet her?"

Isabella lit up, and even Varric smiled a bit. They entered the dim hut, and Marethari shut the door after them, leaving Fenris alone with the blood mage. For the thousandth time, Fenris debated smashing her head against the wall, but for the thousandth time decided against it. Much as he hated blood mages, he couldn't kill her, much as he might have wanted to. She gave him a sort of awkward smile instead, one which he tried to return unsuccessfully.

"She asked about you," Merrill said shyly, in her feeble attempt to make conversation.

"Really? Why?" Fenris responded sarcastically.

Merrill didn't notice his tone, instead responding to his question. "Well, because you saved her, of course! At first, she didn't understand what had happened. But she knew that someone had saved her. So, the Keeper explained everything to her, and she seems to be taking it all pretty well. And she wants to thank you for saving her life."

His chest constricted in a tumble of emotions. "Thank" him? Even though he was still debating whether he should have just left her to die? He quickly quelled his boiling passions and tried to appear indifferent and apathetic, like he normally was.

Fairly soon, Varric and Isabella emerged, both with dreamy expressions on their faces. Apparently she _was_ that remarkable. Varric shook his head, trying to shake whatever was gripping him before using his favorite swear, "Andraste's knickers!"

Marethari appeared at the door behind them and beckoned to Fenris. He took a deep breath, steeling himself against what he knew awaited him and plunged himself into the gloom inside the little hut. The Keeper grabbed his arm, not to reassure him, but as a friendly gesture. Fenris gritted his teeth to keep himself from yanking his arm back from the mage, despite secretly admiring Marethari on some level of his brain. In front of him, illuminated by an orb of magelight that apparently she was supporting herself, was the girl.

She was even more beautiful awake than asleep. Her blazing eyes were like the embers of a fire, a flame that kept everyone warm on a cold, blustery night and filled him with warmth. Her hood was down, revealing all of her silky, orange locks. Upon seeing him, she smiled sweetly, then broke into a grin that revealed her white teeth beneath. She was breathtaking.

And she was a mage.

Another surge of conflicting emotions swelled through the elf. He had hoped, just a little bit, that perhaps she wasn't a mage. Now, that hope was smothered by reality, by the indisputable truth that she was, indeed, a mage. One of the people he loathed. Susceptible to demons and the temptations of blood magic. She would turn, as they all did, and become a horrible abomination or perhaps something worse.

"You are…Fenris?" the girl asked in a high, breathy voice in halting Ferelden.

He nodded, unable to speak with the emotions clogging his throat.

"I am…Midna," she held a hand to her chest to indicate that it was, indeed, her name.

"Midna," he repeated dumbly.

She nodded, a small smile still on her face. "I want to…_thank_ you."

"Thank me?"

"For…saving me. You…did not have to."

Fenris scowled. No, he did not have to, and yet, despite his better judgment, he had. And now, it turned out he had just saved yet another mage. He cursed himself, but he knew he had to be polite to the girl.

"You're welcome," he said miserably. "Good day."

He pulled away from the Keeper, their shocked expressions locked on his back, and walked out of the hut, his temper rising. He needed air. But, unfortunately, all of Kirkwall, both inside and outside, was stuffed and clogged with the scent of people and animals. There was no reprieve for him outside. Varric and Isabella were waiting for him, but even they were shocked at his stormy expression.

"Fenris?" Varric asked hesitantly.

"She's a _mage_! A goddamn _mage!_" the elf fumed.

"Calm down, Fenris—"

"No, I will _not_ calm down! I saved a f*cking mage, Varric! One of them! Damn her, damn me!" he shouted. "Maker knows what _she_'ll be like! She'll probably be possessed within a week, or—"

He broke off suddenly. At the door was a fuming Midna, her eyes no longer warm and dancing, but a consuming inferno, burning all who came to close. And she was focused on Fenris. Leaning on the doorframe for support, she glared furiously at him. The intensity of her fury was frightening, even to Fenris, who normally dismissed mages with an impassive attitude. The wall behind her darkened as she summoned her power, cloaking the area in an oppressive blanket of terror.

"I am not," Midna growled in a threatening tone, pronouncing each word with emphasis, "one of your…_silly_…mages. I…cannot be possessed…by _any_ demon. And…I need no…blood magic. I…am more powerful…than _any_ mage or spirit…in either realm."

And with that, Midna's eyes began glowing a blood red, and a boiling thunderhead began to gather above them, electricity shooting of from its bottom in bright blue bolts. The ground below them began to shake, and the wind began wiping their hair, threatening to rise and carry them with it. Terror and panic gripped Fenris' throat. He had only been this terrified in Tevinter, at the hands of Danarius. But this was a different kind of terror, on he wasn't familiar with. And then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped. Midna's eyes returned to a burning inferno of yellow and orange, but she had released her magic. Marethari pulled her back from the door, and with an inscrutable look at Fenris, shut the door with force.

"Broody," Varric said, still staring at the door in shock, "I think you just got told off."

"Shut up," the elf snapped, turning away and briskly walking back to the abandoned mansion that served only as his living quarters. Isabella and Varric followed behind, whispering quietly behind his back. Meanwhile, Fenris brooded. Only a few mages had been angered enough by his hatred of their kind to lash out at him, one of them being Anders. None had ever lashed out quite like Midna had, however. It was unsettling. But more unsettling was the guilty feeling in his gut that, despite all his anger and hatred, refused to go away.

Even when he was back in the mansion, the guilty feeling refused to go away. So, he rifled through Danarius' liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of some Antivan brandy, some of the strongest in the cabinet. Popping out the quark, he poured a healthy dose of liquor into a crystal goblet and drank it all in one swig while lounging on one of the plush couches. The brandy burned going down, coating his throat in the sticky taste of alcohol, and his brain went slightly fuzzy. But the guilty feeling refused to go away. So he poured himself another glass.

After the fifth glass, when his head was definitely fuzzy but the guilty feeling still lingered in his stomach, he heard the front door open. He teetered unsteadily to his feet and looked around for his sword, thinking it might be one of Danarius' minions trying to catch him off-guards, when Hawke appeared at his balustrade. Fenris sank back down onto the couch.

"Hawke," the elf greeted him with his sixth glass of brandy, his voice surprisingly steady for being on the edge of drunk.

"Fenris," the mage said just as curtly. "I heard about what happened in the Alienage today."

Fenris grimaced and poured the contents of the glass down his throat, not even tasting the alcohol anymore. "I'm sure you did."

The burly mage crossed his arms in displeasure.

Looking up at him in drunken confusion, Fenris grabbed another crystal and filled it with brandy before offering it to Hawke. Hawke eyed it curiously, but he took it anyway and sipped it more delicately than Fenris. Throughout it, his dark eyes never left Fenris' face.

"You know," Hawke said after a swallow, "you might want to apologize."

"Apologize?" Fenris filled his own glass and drank it in one draft. "To a mage?"

Hawke gave him a disapproving look. "To the girl. Mage as she might be, Anders did some tests on her. She wasn't lying about not being able to be possessed. Apparently, her people had a type of magic that dispels demons. In fact, Anders hypothesized that a demon couldn't even be in a certain radius of her, so she probably couldn't even become a blood mage, either."

The elf grunted. The vague feeling of terror from Midna's display returned, and Fenris realized he had been terrified, not of her power, but of her disapproval and hate. Suddenly, the concept of using a glass for the brandy seemed ridiculous. He took the bottle in hand, lifted to his mouth, and drank all of the dark liquid. But the guilt wouldn't go away.

"That was a new bottle, wasn't it?"

"Yesh, sho?"

Hawke shook his head. "You're becoming an alcoholic, Fenris."

"Wha'eve' helpsh, I don' care any mo'," he slurred.

Hawke set his brandy on the coffee table and hooked his arm under Fenris, lifting him up and escorting him to the bedroom.

"Sleep it off," the mage instructed patronizingly.

But Fenris didn't have the strength or presence of mind to retort. He was out in minutes.

* * *

Fenris looked hesitantly at the hut, unsure if he should be there at all. He had awoken in the morning, a potion to help with the hangover conveniently left there by Hawke as Fenris swore yet again to stop drinking so he could avoid the messy and painful hangover that persistently plagued him the next day. Hawke's words, and the guilty pit in his stomach, still lingered in his head. So, dressing himself and trying to think of what to say, he had decided to go to the Alienage and do what Hawke suggested: apologize. A part of him was screaming not to go because, after all, she was a mage. She probably would turn on him, as all the mages he had known eventually did. But, if what she and Hawke had said were true…

Heaving a great sigh, he strode forward and knocked on the door with his armored knuckles. Merrill answered almost immediately. Her eyes widened in shock at seeing him there, and her jaw dropped just a fraction.

"Fenris!" she exclaimed. "What are you—"

"I'm here to see the girl," he interrupted her. "Alone, if you don't mind."

Her mouth shut tightly, but her slowly widening eyes gave away her surprise. She nodded, and moved aside so he could pass. As soon as he was inside, she moved outside and shut the door behind her, immersing the single-roomed cottage in shadow.

Well, mostly in shadow. Several magelights stuck in corners and on the ceiling, again by Midna's hand, casting the room in a purple and blue light. Midna, meanwhile, sat in a chair by a grimy window, looking out onto Kirkwall. She did not look up at his entrance, as if waiting for him to speak first.

Taking a breath and clearing his throat, Fenris started, "I wanted to…to…" The words stuck in his throat. He hadn't realized how difficult it would be to say that one word to a _mage_. "To _apologize_."

"What for?" Midna said in her high, breathy voice.

The elf ground his teeth. "For…_assuming_…_logically_ assuming…that you were like every other mage I've met."

Finally, the girl looked up at him with her captivating ember eyes. Immediately, a warmth stronger than Antivan brandy spread through his limbs. She actually seemed rather sad.

"And I…wanted to apologize…as well."

Fenris stared at her in dumb shock. _What?_ he thought.

Midna turned back to the window. "I…realize now that I don't know…what _you_ have been through. I…was wrong to treat you…so harshly."

His jaw dropped a degree. A mage? Apologizing? To _him_? This had never happened, except when he had told Hawke his story.

"Did Hawke tell you?" Fenris asked skeptically.

Midna turned back to him, her slanted brows narrowing in confusion. "Tell me what?"

Her confusion told him that, indeed, she knew nothing of his past. And yet, she had apologized. He was flabbergasted.

"I realized…after you had gone, that you…might have had…_experiences_…with mages that I do not know about," she smiled wanly. "I…cannot blame you…for assuming that I would be as bad…as those like me…that you have met. You…do not know any better…and can only be expected…to expect…the worse."

Fenris sank against the wall behind him. She had apologized. To him. _Apologized_. A mage. It was shocking. Maybe everyone had been right. Maybe she was different. He felt his heart rebelling against the logic in his brain, telling him to try trusting her. He was so shocked that he couldn't suppress that hope.

Looking at the ground like it was the bottom of a tin mug, he started, "There was only one mage that ever apologized to me. And that was after hearing my story. He felt…bad for what had happened to me. But you don't even know me. And yet, you apologized."

Midna tilted her head toward him and gave him a sad little smile. "I knew a man…once. He was…a lot like you. He…did not trust me…either. But he had no choice. I learned later that his love…had been kidnapped…by a henchman of one of my people. And my people…were invading his world. I understand now…why he did not trust me then. So, I can understand…why you might not trust me. My anger blinded me…before. That is why…I apologized."

Fenris shook his head, looking back up at her. "You are one strange person, Midna."

Her smile got bigger. In that moment, Fenris realized that he would do anything to see her smile like that at him again.

* * *

_Author's Note: Uh...things are moving along quite well, aren't they? This is pretty fun to write, especially with Alex Clare's _"Damn Your Eyes" _playing in the background, a song I highly recommend. __Anyway...reviews are welcome and appreciated! Thanks for reading!_


	3. Act 3

Act 3

It was hard to believe she had been asleep for thousands of years. Even harder to believe that the kingdom she had known as Hyrule was gone, replaced with this darker world that was constantly at war with itself. It was all a little hard to take in. The Hylians called themselves "elves" now, and few, like Keeper Marethari remembered Hyrule at all. Even the language was different, but luckily Ferelden wasn't too difficult to master. But, the Hylians she had come to know and respect, like Link and Zelda, had been killed a long time ago by humans. And now, everything was different. So few had magic. The Gorons and Zoras had vanished. The humans ruled. Even the elves were different that the Hylians she remembered.

Like Fenris.

She hadn't known what to expect when she first met her savior. She supposed she thought he would be like Link, a shy, slightly awkward boy thrust in the middle of things without his consent, doing things more by instinct than plan. But, she had not expected Fenris. He was a warrior, trained and hardened by combat, and maybe something else in his past. He was mysterious, and she could tell that there was something in his past that was still causing him pain. He was so…hurt, it hurt her every time she saw him. It was obvious at first that he didn't like her, didn't trust her in the slightest, and maybe even regretted saving her. And then he had apologized. She had been shocked, but he had been more so when she had apologized for lashing out at him. It was as if he wasn't used to kindness.

And now, he came by every day to visit with her, often bringing some food or wine with him. It was nice, and he was pleasant company. He ignored her strange markings on her arms and her strange skin color, and she did not ask about his strange, white tattoos. When Keeper Marethari had said she could walk, Fenris had walked with her through Kirkwall, showing her the city, and supporting her when she tired. He didn't talk about himself much, but he didn't expect her to talk about herself, either. Instead, they talked about small things, like politics or war or history. He would tell her as much as he knew about what had transpired between the fall of Hyrule, or what they called Elvhenan, and in return she would tell him the history of ancient Hyrule. He seemed fascinated by the history of his people.

She had just finished the tale of the Great Hero that had come before her own Link when an expression of pain crossed Fenris' face. He quickly poured himself another glass of wine and was about to drink it when Midna put her hand on his to stop him. He looked at her in surprise.

"Spirits won't help whatever it is you are dealing with," she said sagely.

He gave a sharp chuckle. "He was just a boy, though. And yet, he was expected to battle an abomination, or whatever Ganon was."

"He was technically a mage as well. And, it was his destiny."

He shook his white-maned head. "Right, _destiny_."

She sighed in resignation. She pulled back her hand from his, though it appeared that he was only more saddened by the loss of her touch. Or was that her imagination?

An idea popped into her head at his sadness and frustration. A story about destiny, and the man that Fenris reminded her so much of. Maybe it would help him with whatever loss or experience he had suffered through. Or maybe it wouldn't. But, she wanted to tell him, to make him understand that _she_ understood. So, she opened her mouth to speak.

"There was another hero after the Great Hero," she said quietly.

Fenris looked up at her, surprisingly not touching the wine again. His eyes told her to continue, so she did.

"He was just an orphan, living in a small village in the south of Hyrule, a goat herder, if I remember correctly. He knew some sword-fighting techniques, but nothing special. Then, one day, when he was in a spirit spring talking with a village girl, the one he loved, the king of bulblins, these…creatures that looked a lot like your darkspawn, came and invaded his town, kidnapping the girl and the children and knocking him unconscious. When he awoke, he raced in the direction he thought they went, only to encounter a barrier between Hyrule and—what do you call it here?—the Fade. A giant hand reached out and plucked him from his world and brought him in to the Fade, and by doing so revealed that he, Link, was indeed the Chosen Hero. When he awoke next, he was in the form of a monstrous wolf, locked in a prison cell in a castle. It was then he heard a giggle, and an imp of the Fade appeared before him and offered to help him, for their goal was the same. He had no choice but to accept, and, helping free him, the imp took the Hero to the top of the castle, where he learned why the Fade, what we called 'Twilight', was encroaching on the world. The Princess Zelda, ruler of all Hyrule and protector against the dark forces, was being usurped by an evil king named Zant."

Fenris listened attentively as she spun the story of Link and the magical imp that helped him defeat the self-proclaimed King of Twilight and eventually his master, the reincarnated Ganondorf. She told him of their hunt for the Fused Shadows, relics that contained a dark and ancient power, and of the imp's fatal injury that was only cured by Princess Zelda's sacrifice. She spoke of how they found a door into Twilight, but that it was broken into shards, and of how they set about finding the shards. She then told him of the final battle with the true evil plaguing the land, Ganondorf, of the imp's feeble attempt to fight him, and of his eventual defeat at Link's hands.

"Link thrust the Master Sword into his wound, and, with one final vision, the Goddesses removed his Triforce, and Ganondorf died." Midna stopped there, not sure if she should continue with the last few details of the story.

Fenris narrowed his eyes in surprise that she had stopped. He had been absorbed in the tale.

"And then?"

"What?"

"Well, what happened to the imp? Had she died?" Fenris wondered.

Midna bit her lower lip, but she supposed it was pointless to not tell him all of the story. "When Ganondorf was defeated, all his magic was released. The imp had been under a curse, you see. When he died…she returned to her true form."

"And that was?"

"The rightful Princess of Twilight," she answered quietly.

"And then what? Did Link marry her?"

Midna smiled despite herself. "No. Link was still in love with Ilia, the girl from his village, and she realized this. So, to prevent anything like that from happening again, the princess went back to her own realm and destroyed the mirror."

Fenris blinked at her in surprise before saying, "So what? She lived in misery for the rest of her life?"

"No, not entirely. She came back to her realm, only to be wounded by the power released by the Fused Shadows when they were destroyed. And when she awoke…" Midna cut off, almost unable to continue, "…she had been saved, and returned to the world of light by handsome elf."

The handsome elf in question blinked at her as realization slowly dawned in his pain-ridden emerald orbs of eyes. They widened considerably before he asked the clarifying, "_You_ are a princess?"

She nodded, not chancing a look at his face but merely staring at the ground, much like Fenris had before. She was embarrassed at her own tale, but also saddened by it. Fenris had been right: she had loved Link, once. Leaving had been the hardest thing she had ever done. But, it seemed like looking at the elf was harder, and the silence permeated the room and weighed oppressively as both tried to come to terms with what they couldn't.

Finally, she heard Fenris clear his throat to begin speaking.

"I…don't remember much of my past," he began shakily, unsure of himself. "But, my earliest memories were of being a slave. I was still young, a boy, maybe thirteen. My master was a magister from the Tevinter Imperium, a mage by the name of Danarius."

And thus, Fenris told her of his life, which was not empty, despite his amnesia. He often choked up, especially when speaking of the horrors he endured at the hands of his master and his apprentice. Midna couldn't begin to imagine the pain he must have endured at their hands, both physical on the part of the apprentice, Hadriana, and emotional on the part of Danarius. Fenris couldn't speak of what Danarius had done to him, but Midna got the sense that he was a plaything for the perverted man. He even had a sense of bitter regret when he spoke of the battle on Seheron, where his master had promptly left him because of his injuries. He said a group of freedom-fighting Qunari, the strange, large men who differed so from the races Midna was accustomed to, had saved him and taught him their ways, but Danarius had returned, and though the Fog Warriors, the Qunari, had fought to save him, Danarius ordered Fenris to kill them all. And so, he said with a heavy sigh, he had. A sharp, tearing pain of empathy tore through Midna's chest as she felt his grief and regret at using his powers to kill those he had known. She had felt similar, when she killed Zant, despite all he had done to her.

"When it was over," Fenris said, the words sounding forced and pained, "I left. Danarius was too weak to stop me, and he couldn't track me immediately afterwards. So, I travelled for a while, and eventually I learned that Danarius was coming here, to Kirkwall. I…I wanted to kill him. Still do."

The suffocating silence returned, but this time Midna broke it by grasping Fenris' hand, still sitting near the wine bottle, with both of hers. He looked at her, his eyes dry despite the emotions that were surely raging behind them. This was a man that had been beaten one too many times. But, at her touch, those eyes began glistening with the tears that had been locked away for far too long. Midna felt a tear falling from the corner of her own eye and sliding warmly down her cheek.

Fenris reached over with his free hand and gently wiped the tear away with a finger, not breaking eye contact for a second. Neither said a word, for neither had to. Midna gave him a small, sad smile, which he wanly returned. They stayed like that for a while. The moment was a little eternity, an infinite memory that could only have lasted a few minutes. But, Midna didn't want it to end. His warm hand felt good between hers, and the hand on her face was so gentle, so sweet.

But it did end, and far too soon for her liking. His hand left her face, and suddenly all was cold again. Fenris stood, promising to return the next day, and he left, though even he seemed to do so reluctantly. She watched him go sadly, watching his back as he strode out, watching him try not to look back at her as he hesitated at the door. He promised to return. That was enough to keep Midna together, until the sun rose the next day.

* * *

It was almost afternoon by the time Fenris knocked on the door. Merrill didn't come by quite as often, now that Midna was almost healed from her wound from the Fade, so she wasn't there when Fenris arrived. Midna rushed to the door as fast as her body would allow her and, taking a deep breath, opened it.

Fenris stood at the door, the traditional bottle of wine in one hand and, surprisingly, a bouquet of flowers in the other. He looked slightly uncomfortable, his face rumpled in a frown of extreme awkwardness. It made Midna smile widely in glee and even elicited a soft giggle. At her delight, Fenris' uneasy frown turned into a small smile.

Letting him in, she asked, "So, flowers?"

Fenris grimaced, the awkwardness returning. "I, uh, saw them coming here, and…I just thought…"

Midna beamed again, her mouth widening into an easy grin. "No, I love them. Let me get some water for them."

Soon after, they found themselves seated at the same table, sitting uncomfortably in the silence that was not quite as stifling as the previous day. Fenris tapped the table with his forefinger, and Midna stared anywhere but at him. At least, today, there was a mutual connection between the two. The silence was not a bad thing, this time.

However, Midna wanted to talk to him. She enjoyed hearing his voice, hearing him speak and laugh with her, even if it was a bitter laugh. She wanted to see him happy. So, rising suddenly from her chair, she strode over to her bed and pulled a stack of book from underneath. Fenris watched her in curiosity, obviously confused about her actions. Midna selected a book, remembering what the Keeper had said about it, and brought it back to the table.

Fenris looked down at the book, and then back at Midna, awaiting an explanation.

"When Master Varric visited the other day," she began, "he mentioned that you were learning to read. I figured, since I don't know how to read Ferelden either, we could…learn together."

The elf blinked once, and then a smile broke out on his face, and then a surprising little chuckle.

"I don't know how I'll teach you," he said.

She smiled. "You read aloud, and I'll pick up the words as you read."

"I still struggle with it."

"That's why I want you to read it to me."

He locked eyes with her, his piercing emerald-jade lances stealing her breath away. They held her for a moment, impaling her soul, before they twinkled in amusement.

"All right," he conceded, picking up the book with his thin fingers, the sleeves of his tunic just brushing the table. Midna couldn't help but notice how close his hand was to hers, how easy it would be to reach over and grasp it in her own. Warmth spread up her face and down to her vital regions. Luckily, it took more than that to make her blush, with her blue complexion.

Fenris moved his chair over to her, causing the warmth to intensify as he sat mere inches from her, the book held between them. And so, Fenris began to read, if haltingly, with Midna trying vainly to focus on the black words on the page instead of the contours of his strong face. He was so handsome, and sitting there beside him, she wondered how he could ever be as violent as Master Varric had described. His eyes were locked on to the page, his brow furrowed in a cute way as he concentrated.

_Stop_, she told herself as she forced her eyes back to the page. So, instead of looking at him, she enjoyed his presence, listening to the velvety, tempestuous lilt of his voice as it lulled her into contentment.

Often, Keeper Marethari and Apprentice Merrill had remarked on her remarkable ability to learn their language. Midna had not understood why they had been so impressed, but by the time the sun had set, Midna recognized many of the strange Ferelden letters, and was reading about as well as Fenris. She did not tell him this, fearing that if she did, it would shatter his confidence and their fragile friendship. Instead, with a smile that barely contained her sadness, she bid him goodnight, and he left her sitting in the empty room, feeling more alone than she had ever felt.

She cursed herself in Hylian for her weakness, her emotions, for her cowardice at not _telling_ Fenris about her emotions or even trying to act upon them. _You are weak,_ she chided herself, wrapping her arms around herself, despite the warm night. Midna only wished that it was Fenris' arms around her, instead of her own.

* * *

Fenris had to try to keep himself from grinning madly when he came to Midna's door. The previous night, he had finished reading the first book with Midna. She had beamed so brightly at him, he had almost forgotten how to breath. Now, with a new book tucked under his arm and a basket Isabella had stuffed with actual food and some quality wine, he stood at Midna's door in the Alienage. That was when his mad grin turned into a panicked expression. What was he _doing_? She would never say yes to this. After all, Fenris had noticed that she was already reading the page at lightning pace, far faster than any average person. But, she hadn't said anything about Fenris' slow pace, or his halting reading. Why, after than excruciating ordeal with the first book, would she be at all eager for him to read to her again?

He was about to turn back and return to the mansion when the cottage door cracked open, and an eye like a candle flame peered out into the sun-bathed streets. Fenris stood there self-consciously in his loose robes and doublet, mouth hanging slightly open as he debated whether to fight or flee. As she opened the door even more, that warm smile freezing him to the spot, he was left with no other choice than to fight his fear and stand his ground.

"Morning!" she said in her high, slightly breathy voice that Fenris always strained to hear again.

"Uh…" he had to prevent himself from glancing at the basket. "I was wondering…"

She tilted her head, her thick orange hair falling ever so slightly to the side. Fenris closed his eyes and took a breath, vainly trying to concentrate.

"There's a spot, not far from the city. I was wondering if you wanted to go there. It's a lot quieter…that is…it's better for…for reading…" Fenris stumbled.

Midna flashed her toothy, dazzling smile that made Fenris forget she was ever a mage. "I'd love to."

She grabbed a shawl from the inside of the cottage to cover her head and, shutting the door, took the arm that Fenris automatically offered her. The contact, even if it was just her arm through his, sent shivers through his arm and down his spine. He led her out of the city, through one of the gates leading toward the Dalish camp, away from the bustle of Kirkwall. Soon, they could hear the birds chirping and the wind played with their hair, filling Fenris' lungs with air that smelled clean. He looked over at Midna, lightly clinging to his arm, as she admired the scenery. She had only been taken out of the city once, and also with him, when he took her to the Dalish camp. Now, they were going a little way away from the camp, to a secluded site that few rarely visited. She looked so happy, smiling incessantly and looking at everything with wide eyes. Removing her shawl, she looked back at Fenris. The sun made her orange hair glow like it was on fire, and her skin shone blue like the watery surface of a pond. The light danced in her eyes, sparks rising from the gentle hearth. _She's beautiful_, he found himself thinking. But, he had known that. He thought he had moved on from that fact.

As they reached the spot, Midna's eyes glittered in awe. They were on a small crest between a small rock face to their left and a downhill slope to their left, covered with the softer grass from inland and dotted with patches of wildflowers that basked in the shade of the leafy trees that clung near the rock face. The crest curved down and opened a view of Kirkwall and its harbor, with the sea glittering in the mid-morning light beyond that. It was a stunning view, and Midna stared out in amazement. Then she turned back to Fenris, her delicate mouth curved in a small, excited, joyous smile. He smiled back naturally, a sense of happiness filling him. He realized that he hadn't felt this happy in a long time. Then he noticed that they were holding hands, and the feeling grew.

They settled down under a tree, gazing out at the sea beyond as they laid out the blanket in the basket and settled down to read. Midna insisted that he continue to read the book aloud, like he had with the last one. The pleading look in her eyes immediately convinced him. The book wasn't anything particularly exciting, just some folktales gathered from different cultures around Thedas, but Midna didn't seem to mind. At around noon, they chatted and ate a small lunch, sipping the wine and laughing freely. Then, she insisted that he continue reading. So, he did.

When Fenris look up again, the sun was setting in the west, and a gold haze was covering the surroundings. The sea glittered gold, Kirkwall shone yellow and orange, and Midna looked like a flame, sitting next to him. It was spectacular. He stopped reading, distracted from the page by what lay beyond it. He set the book down on the ground between them, his forefinger marking the page. The day was almost over, and even though the day had passed far quicker than any other day Fenris could remember, it felt like a little eternity.

Midna started, having been focused on his voice. She glanced at him, concerned, her eyes so full of emotion, like an inferno, or a sea of fire. Fenris tried his best not to stare at her.

"Fenris?" she asked, a little frown gracing her lips as her eyebrows knitted together.

He stared out to sea, afraid of what he would say if he opened him mouth to respond.

She put her hand on his, the contact sending another spark up his arm. He automatically looked at her after she touched him, and soon wished he hadn't. She was dazzling in the golden light of the fading sun, in the twilight. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her face, her consuming eyes. And she didn't look away, either, staring back into his eyes.

Without realizing what he was doing, his free hand reached out and gently cupped her warm face. He leaned forward, and he kissed her. She almost pulled back in surprise, but she quickly returned the kiss, pressing her flesh against his. She tasted dark and sweet, with a hint of mint and citrus, like some exotic fruit. Another little eternity passed, a moment that Fenris never wanted to end. Then, he pulled back, the shock of his actions breaking the embrace. Midna looked shocked, surprised both that he had kissed her and that he had pulled away. He had to admit, he felt the same way.

"I…" Fenris looked away shamefully, not able to meet her questioning infernos. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

Midna muttered something under her breath, and Fenris thought he heard "Yes, you should have."

She pulled her hand away, making Fenris feel dejected. But _he_ had kissed _her_, and then _he_ had broken that kiss. It was his fault, not hers, and she was just responding to his own actions. But, it still made him feel worse.

They packed up in silence, Fenris brooding on what he had done. He regretted it; he should never have kissed her. She was a mage, but more than that, she thought of herself as his friend. And, as much as it pained him to admit it, he knew she _was_ his friend, maybe one of his only friends. He did not want to break that bond. But another part of him rejected that. That other part did not regret that kiss, but played it over and over in his mind, tasted her sweet breath over and over…

He walked her back to the Alienage, but her grip on his arm was light, a formality. They said goodnight stiffly, and Fenris slumped back to his mansion, his thoughts swirling darkly in his head. That night, he opened another bottle of brandy. Then another. Then, after being sober since the day he had told Midna his story, he got piss-drunk and passed out on his couch.

* * *

Fenris finished lacing up his gauntlets and boots, making sure they were secure and wouldn't slip off during combat. It had been two days since the kiss, and he needed to chop up some bodies with his massive greatsword. He had gotten drunk both nights, each night more so than the last. The last of his hangover was fading, and would hopefully be gone before the fighting began. Hawke had said he needed help with some bandits, and Fenris was happy to oblige. He was sure that Anders would be there, but Fenris needed to fight with someone. _Anyone_. He needed to be angry with something other than himself.

He managed to sling the greatsword over his shoulder and make it out of his own door in one piece. He plodded along the cobblestone streets in Hightown, his feet bare, like normal, until he reached Hawke's family manor. It was far cleaner than his own, but Hawke though of his as "home", whereas Fenris would gladly see Denarius' old home razed to the ground. He knocked on the door, and Bodahn, Hawke's personal manservant (a better position than Fenris had had, certainly), answered. The dwarf looked up and smiled.

"Ah, Master Fenris. He's expecting you, in the foyer," Bodahn held the door open.

"Thanks," the elf said glumly and he trudged into the clean, cheery mansion.

Indeed, Hawke was in the foyer, pouring over his ledger, making sure he had all the details of their quest memorized before they departed. His staff was strapped across his back, and his hands were splayed out on the table, supporting his weight. From the way he was standing, it looked like he had had a rough night. Varric stood next to him; apparently Anders had had a worse one. Damn, Fenris had needed to insult the mage. To the other side of Hawke was a woman, tall, with a hood over her face. A staff, it looked Dalish, was also slung across her back. Was she the client? No, if she was, they wouldn't be focusing on Hawke's ledger. But, Fenris didn't recognize her…

A cold shock froze Fenris in place as his mind figure out what he was seeing. Hawke noticed he was there and turned around, his dark eyes looking over Fenris appraisingly, probably suspecting that he had been drinking. Fenris didn't notice; he was too fixated on the girl, wishing with all his willpower he was wrong. She turned around after Hawke, her glowing eyes of fire blazing through the shade of her hood. A sense of dread settled in his stomach.

"What—" Fenris started.

"Midna wanted to come with us," Hawke interrupted him, knowing what he was about to ask. "She wants to see more of Kirkwall, and she wants to regain her full strength. I hope that's okay with you?"

It wasn't a question, it was a demand for acceptance. Fenris sighed, the guilt and apprehension washing over him, before he nodded his agreement. Hawke broke out into a grin and slapped him on the shoulder. Midna removed her hood and gave him a sad smile before focusing her attention on Hawke as he told them what the objective was and the outlined plan than would undoubtedly go wrong. All the while, Fenris couldn't help but feel the urge to lock Midna away and refuse to let her go with them. At one point while Hawke talked, he met her eyes, and those raging infernos seemed to say, _You were wrong about me, Fenris._

And he had been.

Very wrong.

* * *

_Author's Note: I'm sorry; I'm having _way_ too much fun writing this... _:D


End file.
